Dirty Gamble
by LiveLoveLaugh
Summary: [Prequel of Dirty Talk] They were the emulsion of oil and water, their love was not immediate. Their friendship was rocky, but at the end of the game, they win more than just a prize. [ShinoXSaku]
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Sweetheart, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: _LiveLoveLaugh_

FanFiction Story: **Dirty Gamble**

**Summary:** (Prequel of Dirty Talk) Takes a big man to crack a woman. It takes a bigger man to make hundreds go crazy for him. But in this game, it takes one shinobi to realize his feelings. (ShinoXSaku)

* * *

You heard right. In this story, _Shino_ gets the girl. Have a good read.

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

His eyelashes lightly fluttered in a tired motion, adjusting his sunglasses to the harsh light. For a moment there, he nearly forgot where he was until he saw himself surrounded by light pink walls and white curtains. A shadow of a figure moved slowly over his weak body. He glanced down when he noticed a pair of lovely hands lift up from nowhere, leaving something heavy on his lap. When the figure moved away, a gentle light poured over his face and his gray blankets. 

His lunch was set out neatly on his plastic tray so he took it as a notion to eat. He grimaced behind his immobile façade when he tasted the watery brown concoction of chicken noodle soup. _Hospital food was awful. _When he stopped eating, she persisted he finished everything on his plate no matter how disgusting it tasted. She'd even picked up his spoon and shoved it between his tight lips. Again the molten, salty taste returned to his tongue.

But he obliged, ignoring the repulsed buzz of his insects.

Right, like _he_ wanted a beating.

The soft scratches alerted the bedridden patient next to her. The black pencil head kept creating lazy circles, which later turned into dreamy swirls and sharp zigzags across the white paper. In frustration, she tore the page off her notebook and started again. The pencil returned into a subtle sketching, flicking lines across the smooth surface. Through the dark lens, he could vaguely make out the smudges developed under her finger pads as he glanced at her trying to sketch out the potted daffodil on the nightstand.

Her pink tongue poked out and curled at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were narrowed in disappointment. He could clearly hear the little irritated noises she made when she unsuccessfully came up with what looked like a fuzzy gray flamingo after undergoing an electroshock instead of a delicate bright flower.

Instead of erupting into a furious dance, she sighed and laughed, "I'm not a good artist."

He didn't say anything. He just sat there, sitting upright on his thin bedding and hazily twirling his metal spoon in the dregs of the finished soup. The bits of old potato and thin shreds of chicken swam thickly. His lips were just parted enough that it didn't show any of his teeth. She sometimes if he had any since she never seen him smile or frown, or vaguely open his mouth any bigger to drink water or talk.

She had long ago noticed he didn't react much to anything so she left him in his place. But she made sure to get something out of him daily.

She often did this, coming into each of her patient's rooms to check up on them and sometimes, most of the time, talk to them so they wouldn't feel so alone or out of place. She treated the children to small treats and candies. The patients rather like someone more attractive than themselves to pay attention to them and make them feel more important, even if most of the nurse staff were old crones walking around in too-tight stilettos.

But the young medic had a difficult time with the lone shinobi, who was finishing up his bratwurst toast. Again his mouth only covered the bread crust enough that she wasn't able to see his white chompers, and if it weren't for crunching sounds he made (however small they were) she would've thought he was toothlessly sucking on the somewhat burnt edges.

He was a nut she couldn't crack. Even then, she had never had any trouble getting a few sentences out of the Kazekage whenever she visited Hidden Sand to check up on the ongoing status of the Sand medic-nin, but _this_, this was a different situation.

She placed down her notepad and pencil on the window ledge, and straightened out the ends of her white skirt. She watched him eat the rest of his toast, watching the food slowly disappear behind the thin, pale lips. She had soon realized she never had rapid attention to the movements of his mouth. But she did.

He looked so exposed without his hitae-ate or his layers of coats and hood, adorned only in his dark blue pajamas his family sent over weeks ago when he was hospitalized. From her eyes, he looked lankier and skinnier, and had a weak appetite. Up from the collar, all of his skin was exposed except for the places around his eyes hidden away from his spectacles.

Those eyes, she wondered, if she could just see those eyes…it looked _so_ easy, in her position, to reach over and delicately lift up the frames from his face. When she suddenly noticed her fingers inched forth, she quickly clasped together and cradled them in her lap.

He never seemed to act uncomfortable to her protruding stares so she had the time of her life, just looking at all the graceful movements of his hands and his fingers. She noticed the way his sunglasses glint in the daylight, the way the sunshine reflected on the bushy mop of dark hair on his head, and the small glow of his pale skin. When he finished, he tilted his head slightly to her direction without a word.

He looked almost normal but not quite.

She smiled to herself. She could get used to it.

* * *

_To Be Continued_

* * *

I knew I had to continue _Dirty Talk_, even if it was just one chapter. So I had decided shortly that this would be a story, not a one-shot. I have no idea how long it will be, but I can guarantee it'll be much longer than two chapters. Hopefully.


	2. Some Company

**Disclaimer:** Sweetheart, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: _LiveLoveLaugh_

FanFiction Story: **Dirty Gamble**

**Summary:** (Prequel of Dirty Talk) Takes a big man to crack a woman. It takes a bigger man to make hundreds go crazy for him. But in this game, it takes one shinobi to realize his feelings. (ShinoXSaku)

* * *

_Some Company_

* * *

After his lunch, the patient Aburame Shino checked out only a short hour ago as seen exiting through the glass-framed double doors. He politely held the door for a grumpy old woman in a wheelchair pushed by a smiling male nurse, who cheerily greeted him. Shino only nodded much to the young man's faint disappointment and left, planning to go back to his apartment half across the village or do some training.

Before he reached the opened gates, he was suddenly bombarded with a bulkier and shorter aggressive man with a large white dog.

Kiba was a bursting vivacious shinobi, who looked like a person who would have given the world to run wild in mud, rain, and everything, only to smell more like a mutt. He was a living example of a bachelor, almost like the Toad Sannin, except he had yet to achieve more than fifty years in his life writing adult novels and drink sake in bathhouses. Off duty, the two polar-opposite companions spent it being normal civilians. _Whatever that is._

His canine-like friend always seemed to have something to say, using nearly his whole body to emphasize his words. Right then, his rough hands began to draw out his one-way conversation in the silliest movements, with thumbs-ups and wiggly fingers, "Oh man, Shino, what did you get diagnose with in that hellhole? It's been—_how long_—three freaking weeks! I'm surprised you didn't get wrapped up like a mummy or something…" _Or something_.

In a short while, he found himself with the Inuzuka in a teahouse while Akamaru wandered outside. They both sat under heavy shadows behind short blue curtains, eating too-sweet dango off long bamboo sticks and bean paste pastries while drinking scalding hot tea from clay cups. The teahouse was a boastful place, filled with talkative people who played long continuous games of Go and Shogi over their hot drinks and some who quietly read their daily newspapers. The entire place smelled like old water and pine, which his bugs come to crave.

He felt them relaxed under his skin so he begun to partially listen to Kiba's loud exclamations of his past missions and stories of their fellow shinobi. The mochi dough stuck to the fangs of his teeth, small spills of milk soda washed across the soft wood of the table. It was quite unsightly even for someone with no opinion. His eyes started to wander off over the other patrons.

"…so while you were gone, that idiot Naruto finally asked out Hinata. I'd been wondering when they would be hitting it off, and as you can see, old Hiashi-sama is acting in a way you wouldn't have…"

A group of retired men dressed in thick coats and sweatpants complained about their cold fish wives and talked loudly about the old times. The waitress with a flamboyantly black wig set down a teapot on a table. A young kunoichi in her Chuunin vest glanced around and began immediate whispering to her friend, both of them erupting into giggles and looked at some direction.

"…I mean, you expect the man to pummel Naruto's ass, but he _actually_ accepted their relationship! I was surprised, seriously. I bet the entire village was falling off their chairs because of that! You should have been there. Hinata was _so_…"

His sight stayed on the two female ninjas and followed where they were giggling at. Suddenly at the corner far away from his table, sat someone he immediately recognized only as Uchiha Sasuke. The girls' shrill laughter interrupted his thoughts, suddenly remembering why he came here at the first place.

"…man. Are you even listening?" Kiba scowled irritated.

He took a moment to look at him. Unhurriedly, he murmured, "Isn't he supposed to be on house-arrest?"

"Huh? Who?"

Shino nodded off to the side, "Over there."

The dog-boy shot his head as quick as lightning, his messy hair flew with the air. When he saw Sasuke, he laughed loudly to himself and banged his hand on the table top. Shino never knew dango can jump that high.

"Man, are you seriously _dumb_ or—oh right—sorry, forgot you were crippled for a while there," his friend darted his eyes away from the drifting coldness wafting from the bug-shinobi, "Uh, well, Sasuke got off."

"What do you mean?"

"What am I supposed to mean?"

"…you said 'Sasuke got off.'"

Kiba rolled his eyes, "He's not on probation anymore. The Hokage released him early for good behavior or whatever. So he's been doing a lot of training and regaining back every one's trust, of course Naruto and he were always good buddies. A few days ago he even tried to compensate with me!" He smirked, "Kept complimenting on the healthy glow of Akamaru's fur. Never knew he was so dog-friendly…"

Shino didn't find that right, "He's friendly?"

"I don't know if that's the _right_ word. But he's definitely not a total asshole anymore. Even Naruto trusts him now. So I guess it'll be alright. Even Kakashi-sensei and the rest of his team…"

"You mean, Sakura." He had no idea why he mentioned that.

"Yeah, her, I guess. Whatever," Kiba shrugged, looking at the Uchiha sip his tea, "I mean it's good and everything that Sasuke wants to change after the whole Orochimaru thing, but we're not really so sure why he's acting like a total wuss. Maybe house-arrest was too hard for him to handle. I think Naruto probably knows why…now _back_ at what _I_ was talking about—"

Shino didn't care for the new moves he and his dog had practiced. He didn't care for Naruto getting together with Hinata, even though he was happy for them. He could even care less about the hot chicks Kiba slept with last night. What he didn't know was why he had taken such an interest in Sasuke's private life. By the time he was conscious again, he had not even heard a peep of the Uchiha's name in the hospital or of his recent release from house-arrest. Not even Sakura had talked about him.

But it didn't sound right. Then again, perhaps Sasuke does want to change? He did come back to Konoha with a different opinion, after he had taken the life of his brother. He looked as though a massive heavy load of nostalgia, depression, and defeat—not that of triumph and evil—had hung over his weathered body and haunted his tone of voice, from the last time Shino had seen him. It had been so long since the whole Orochimaru and Akatsuki issue, perhaps he does want to be a Hidden Leaf shinobi again?

After all, those years he had been prohibited from any missions, Naruto had commented how much he missed life outside and inside the village, how he missed being an individual, how he had missed his team more than anything. Did he really mean them? Suddenly he saw the Chuunin kunoichi get up from her seat, having her friend giggle relentlessly after.

The back of her brown hair swiftly moved with her stiff strut as she nervously walked over to Sasuke's table. Halfway, she rashly turned back to her friend, quietly scolded her for all the squeaky noises she made. The other girl waved her hands persistently, reassuring her to go. With his strong hearing, he could hear every word spoken between them. And from experiences with him, Shino knew flirtation and seduction from an insignificant girl would be the first things the Uchiha would fling over his shoulder after a few minutes of watching him coldly brush the kunoichi off. Some things just don't change.

The girl left abruptly, clearly upset.

But something about the Uchiha made him doubt the warm façade Kiba had told him about. Right then, his face expression was obviously unhappy and irritated, and his eyes kept looking at the plastic clock hanging next to an ink painting. It was far past noon, and from just peering at his current state, could mean it seemed Sasuke had been waiting for someone. Someone really important.

The tea was cold and the sweets were left uneaten, Sasuke slapped change on his table and left.

"HEY! You're not listening again!" Kiba yelled, causing the other patrons to jump.

* * *

To Be Continued

* * *


	3. A Helping Hand

**Disclaimer:** Beautiful, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: _LiveLoveLaugh_

FanFiction Story: **Dirty Gamble**

**Summary:** (Prequel of Dirty Talk) They were the emulsion of oil and water, their love was not immediate. Their friendship was rocky, but at the end of the game, they win more than just a prize. (ShinoXSaku)

* * *

Yeah, I went a little overboard with the details in this chapter. I guess its part of my charm.

* * *

_A Helping Hand_

* * *

Yamanaka Ino had never had such a tiring, boring eventless day. Not even the shop's strong coffee could bring a witty smile on her face. Besides watering the same flowers three times in the same hour — she always thought her geraniums looked parched — there were only so much a florist could do in one day. People who would purchase the best flowers in the village at her mother's shop, and it might take time until the same customers would come back for more bouquets and potting soil. Many times in a usual day, she would hold back her frustration when one customer had used lead water for her tulip buds, or when another would take hours to choose just the right flowers then buy the first ones she had picked out an era ago.

Some people just don't know how to appreciate the beauty of nature.

But today, no withered crone came into the shop to ignite an argument, no poor husband scratching off his scalp to choose the right crimson shade of red roses, not even the neighboring kid, who promised come in to sell scout cookies, was there. Being a sexually frustrated lioness on the prowl, she repeatedly drowned the rainbow of plants and blossoms around the store with the green hose. She fidgeted at every noise she heard, let it be the squeak of her open-toed sandals against the wooden floors or the little cute mutterings she made when a thorn cut her finger.

She couldn't believe she made herself pretty for nothing; no young man entered the shop in looks for a little flirting with the gorgeous florist. Her platinum blond hair was twisted into a tight bun at the top of her head, the long bangs down the side of her attractive face. She was proud of her rather large chest pressing eagerly through the fabric of her apron, tied so tightly it felt like a corset, her feminine hands was stuffed into latex rubber gloves as she snipped and ripped away weeds in the backroom greenhouse. The sun, hidden playfully behind white clouds, had shot rays of gold through the glass windows, burning the back of her neck whenever she turned around to correct the rolls of gleaming ribbons at the bottom drawer into alphabetical order.

Many times today, she took her random breaks and went to the Employees Only office to watch the afternoon cartoons, one show featuring an adorable underwater yellow sponge pouncing around a grumpy blue bald tentacle-thing with a droopy nose. Her mother –who was coming close to her retirement age – kept running around the place, shouting at her to get her out and about. What Ino hated the most, besides losing to her best friend, was being treated like a child from a scarier woman than herself.

Near the hour of closing, the orange orb of the sleepy sun was setting over the horizon. The golden rays turned to bronze-tinted beams that warmed the cool atmosphere of the coming nighttime. No service, no new cash, Ino disappointedly wiped the counter with a can of cleaning product and a towel. She scrubbed the same spot for the fourth time, thinking over and over about the wages she'd been saving up for that black designer mini-dress at the showcase, until someone entered into the shop obscured by the glowing sheen over his towering silhouette.

Her blue eyes nearly popped out, a customer! "Hey there! Welcome to the Yamanaka Flower Shop! What may I—"

Suddenly, her voice was abruptly trapped between the gums of her swollen jugular. The front door closed shut, the holy orange glow disappeared, a massive shadow overcast the entire shop as one fellow walked closer and closer like a precautious studious manner that of a stalker, revealing himself to the woman in a movie, the terrified curvy blonde with too much makeup who would soon shriek in horror, as the man's hidden face soon comes to transform into a structure of scary flesh and breath…but it wasn't like that at all. She would have been the scared victim, but the person would stood in front of her was rather, comical and abstract, none like a Peeping Tom stranger and besides, she knew who he was.

Standing there, stood Aburame Shino wearing not his regular overstuffed coat and hoodie, as a matter of a fact, he didn't look like his usual self. He adorned in clean dark attire with a fashionable navy tie, nice shoes, ironed slacks, a midnight-black jacket, and a striped blue dress shirt. He was dressed very casually, with a few buttons opened to reveal the tantalizing pale skin underneath.

He looked very lean, not bulky and intimidating as before, and tall, not that freakish height that outrun every other tall shinobi she knew. His hair was almost the same and he still wore sunglasses, but a nicer pair than the ones that reminded her of goggles. One hand was in his fancy pants pockets, while another held a strip of fuchsia-pink paper lift high enough to his stone-like face, which held an emotional fraction of a disapproving exhilarated expression.

When she could not take her eyes off him, Shino turned his head aside to a small octave and coughed, "I need a bouquet."

In his hand, he handed her the pink paper with the order, written in a spidery cursive.

"Oh my God, Shino," Ino exclaimed, excitedly, wishing she had a camera with her, "You look very nice! What's the occasion?"

"I need six pink roses," he said in a monotone, "With some purple ribbon."

She did not take the little piece of card, rather she had taken her time to analyze every part of him, "My, my, Shino, since when do you dress like this? I do not recall you having a…" Ino slyly stuck her wiggling pinky finger, "…girlfriend."

If it not been for the blinding second of the striking light of the setting sun, slowly concealing behind the five great heads of the Hokage Monument, coming into her shop window she would have seen the mere moment of impatience and displeasure wafting from the glare of Aburame's sunglasses. He pushed the pink paper closer to her mischievous face.

"It's for my cousin's dinner birthday party. I…didn't know what else to get her," Shino silently murmured, his voice was deep and haunting. Suddenly a tiny hint of desperation poured into his tongue, a kind of tone he used when he was around a stubborn Kiba. "Please just do your job…"

"Okay sir!" Ino was still grinning maliciously, running around the shop, cutting and snipping the needed flowers. Her voice, god, her annoying voice was causing his Kikai to sizzle under his skin. He took a long look around the shop, from each corner, to every nook and cranny to speculate everything. His range of sight returned to the blonde who held up six roses, only in their budding form and young shape. The nice shade of pink lingered in his mind when she sheared the thorns on the counter in his view, that color was just elegant for some reason. He looked at Ino when she started a short conversation that surrounded her boring day.

"You know, you are my only customer today! Can you believe that?" the Yamanaka girl snorted, watching as the extra leaves piled up, "Slowest business I ever been through, I swear, you think people are getting tired of flowers?" She stopped her work, instead to affectionately run her fingertips over her face.

Shino looked at her with a questioning stare. Ino smiled, talking to him as if they were the best of friends, "Oh…you know, well, maybe not. It's just a little one of those things I think about when I'm bored as hell. Thank god, I'm going out tonight. Going to hit a bar, get wasted or something. So your cousin's birthday, eh? Where your folks celebrating the occasion?"

"At her favorite restaurant not far from the village so her friends can come too."

"Oh? How old is she?"

"She's turning thirteen."

"Oh…out of the Academy, right?" The roses was cut at the ends, and piled together neatly so each bud crowded another.

"Yes, but she's one of the oldest kunoichi this year. She was held back for a year."

"Why?" The bouquet was wrapped in a crackle-sounding transparent plastic wrap for a nice effect.

"She simply was not one of the graduating nine."

Ino smirked when she tied a purple ribbon around the roses into a pretty bow. She placed it gently next to the cashier register and shortly cleaned up the clippings by brushing them off the counter to fall into a small trash basket below, and then punched a few buttons on the machine. When Shino paid for his flowers, he gestured to stuff them into his inner jacket pocket so no one could see this rather embarrassing display of the stoic Aburame walking around the Konohagakure streets, holding a fancy schmancy girly gift. But the florist wouldn't hear of it.

"You're kidding me! You can't hand a girl with a messed up garland!" she screamed at him.

"Good night Shino!" Ino yelled out from the swinging door of the shop when he left. Shino half-thought of running back into the store, closing the door behind and perform certain bug freaky rituals so no one but him will ever know what happened so maybe, he can go towards his destination with a clearer mind, not some cloudy conscience fighting to prevent the thirst to suck someone's chakra out to last tasty drop. It sounded tempting. Thank goodness, he was not crazy.

* * *

The starless sky was a vast deep black-blue with crooning bleak streaks of violet, painting nature's beautiful ceiling with gray clouds and soft winds picking up their speed and mounting power. His frizzy mop of dark hair was brushed by the playful winds, tickling the bushy strands with tactless fingers and rubbing coolness against his wrinkleless skin. The darkness he was seeing through was darker than the night that surrounded the entire village, slowing down after a day's work and labor. Behind his spectacles, he was submerged into a level of deeper color and forms coming from all directions. His sight was narrowed to one direction, not caring for passing shinobi and civilian of any kind. 

The luminous yellow-green glows of shops and houses exploded vibrantly from every building and lamppost, shining on the Aburame boy as he walked in slow steady steps. Neon signs pointed to directions of bars and restaurants, the streets were filing with night-goers and nocturnal folk. He had returned back to the village after spending a few hours at the dinner party, not even touching his food since he never had much of an appetite for western cuisine. His cousin had too many expensive presents to even consider his cheap bouquet. Later that night, after watching grown adults embarrass themselves singing karaoke, for no logic at all, his father – all hip and tipsy after several cups of sake – had pushed one of the pink roses into Shino's breast pocket and sent him home immediately, knowing fully well that the boy was not having that much fun and was probably ruining the night with his anti-socialism.

The streets were filled with partying ninjas coming out of taverns, hanging onto each other with sloppy smiles, red faces, and repeatedly swinging sake bottles into their mouths. Couples lingered outside of clubs, giggling shamelessly as they stood oh so close they could caress the space between each other as if they were really touching. Shino loosened the tie around his long neck and unexpectedly entered into one of the more secluded shinobi-invaded bars; to drown his deep ongoing thoughts through beer nuts and listening to old men complain about women.

Kisses were shared between strangers, lipstick smeared on half-empty dirty glasses, names and numbers were jot down on napkins, the smell of liquor and sweat hung heavily in the air, and a man who didn't wash his hands after hastily coming out of the restroom slowly ran his fingers through his lover's wavy hair. Shino began to notice these little details; some thing suddenly struck him as totally obvious. Tonight, a cool humid night with no moon and no stars definitely meant something. Of course, how did he not know?

It was a special night that even ugly people were having sex.

He couldn't believe how long it had taken him to figure out today, it was a kind of evening where everyone was getting romantic and intimate with each other. Singles come out tonight to meet other singles, perhaps to get laid. He couldn't exactly explain from the hazy mind he reserved after sipping rum from his heavy mug – no, wait, he thought he ordered a small – his eyes from behind his sunglasses became droopy and tired.

What a night, he absentmindedly noted; what a night it must be to catch someone like him _drunk_.

He leaned forward unknowingly, taking more gulps from the sharp spiciness of rum down his throat. He dropped the mug from his wet mouth and lazily did not think of wiping his indecency. Perhaps, he didn't know. He wasn't thinking tonight. His face was so close to the greasy counter his cheek could come into contact with the sticky water rings on the dark wood, his mind so full of random things that caused him to become sleepy. The bartender did not notice him, did not recognize him from one drunkard to the next. When he wanted to fall asleep, wanted to close his eyes forever, a hand ran over the fabric of his black dress jacket to wake him up.

"Shino? Hey is that you?"

A cooing soft feminine voice poured into his right ear, a hint of concern that abruptly reminded him of where the heck he was. He stared at that face, that hand on his broad shoulder that bought him back to earth. He quickly, assertively straightened his back posture. Shino was as embarrassed as any other respectable man, noticing that he was not alone, not a stranger in this lonely dark bar where he thought he knew no one he could possibly know would enter when other bars and clubs and hot spots offered better drinks and less dinkier seating places. He bought up one hand to rub the skin around the frames of his lens. Why was he even here in the first place?

"Shino? Are you okay?"

There she stood, looking as different as he did tonight. Her glossy pink hair looked softer and darker; she wore a little makeup with some gloss on her lips and blush over her cheeks. She smelled of some flowery soap she must have cleaned her face with, he noticed the scent immediately because she was so close to him. Her green eyes were wide-set when she stared at him, almost with the same expression Ino gave him that caused a fraction of his time to look away.

"Hey, Shino-san? Are you alright?" She whispered urgently; panic inching at the tip of her tongue.

How can the heir of the Aburame clan forget his goddamn manners? Shino abruptly nodded, watching the relief flood her face.

"Oh, God, I thought you were going to faint on me…" Sakura murmured, closing one warm hand on his own. She was so close to him. He could clearly see the movements of her mouth part and close, the two pieces of pink flesh creating shapes and forms of a beautiful sign language, "Why are you here?"

He didn't quite know how to answer that. After a moment of stubbornness, Sakura gave up and shook her head. His hazy eyes moved downward, drowning into the sight of her light blue dress. Her slender body was curved with the short sleeves and exposed collar of the fabric grabbing hold of her shape, she looked quite leggy with the short lace around her thighs. She was wearing open-toed white heels, the ribbons clasped over the toes and ankles of her pretty feet. Before he knew it, he was outside the pub with her.

"I'm going to take you home, Shino…" Sakura proclaimed; her hands on his shoulders.

He was tilting slightly towards her, his thin mouth was parted carefully trying to gather the words she had just said. His eyes were unfocused. Her face at one time looked more like a blob of peach-colored pudding with an overflow of pink frosting. Not that it mattered. He could still move his legs so they walked side by side in the most lustful night of the village. They walked together, occasionally when he would almost make a dreadful fall she would catch him. In return, he threw his jacket on her to protect her from the cold. No moon or stars to guide them through the streets, they walked on the sidewalks passing by dimming lamps and wired telephone posts. What a night it was.

* * *

To Be Continued

* * *


	4. Over the Ceramic Bowl

**Disclaimer:** Beautiful, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: _LiveLoveLaugh_

FanFiction Story: **Dirty Gamble**

**Summary:** (Prequel of Dirty Talk) They were the emulsion of oil and water, their love was not immediate. Their friendship was rocky, but at the end of the game, they win more than just a prize. (ShinoXSaku)

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to Sakura's very belated birthday; also I felt a strong urge to update.

* * *

_Over the Ceramic Bowl_

* * *

"Oh man! Is that Shino?" 

"Yes, it is, can you please help me…?"

"But Sakura! Look at him! He's totally wasted!"

"Kiba, don't. Hand me that chair."

"Hey, why is he covered in—"

"No he's not. I don't know. Can you drop the subject please?"

"Ha! This is excellent! If only I had my camera—_Ow!_ Damn woman! Stop hitting me!"

He threw up in Kiba's bathroom toilet. Sakura looked uneasily at the locked door, tugging harder on the navy sleeves of his dress coat and crossing her arms together tightly. Whenever the nauseating sound of gurgling and flushing came about, the corner of her mouth twitched. He had been at it again that Kiba had complained loudly of the mess he must have made—god—she didn't even want to think about it. It wasn't at all like the bug shinobi she used to know, whose reputation was well-known for his strictly polite mannerisms and little to no words, besides his awful hair and destruction insects though she didn't really want to mention now.

He always looked like a decent man, a kind of decent that didn't exactly earn him the kind of respect the village had reserved for prodigies like Hyuuga Neji or Hatake Kakashi, but he was respected for what he done nonetheless. He had always seemed distant and cold from the rest of the herd, minding his business and only spoke when necessary, unless in certain circumstances where he would be riled up by his teammate Kiba—then again, no one could blame him.

Maybe he didn't like being in a crowd, everyone had figured, maybe he's indifferent to all of us.

And so everyone, including her, had moved on and saw to Shino as another flower on the Konohagakure wallpaper. Now that she thought about it, she, along with everyone else, had no idea who the real Shino was. Sure, people knew _of_ him—but it was not the same as _knowing_ him. It was difficult to explain, really, to talk about Shino because he was so mysterious in his own way, if not intimidating.

His careful approaches in language structure and politeness had only been the façade that people had noticed, besides the puffy jackets and the goddamn sunglasses. People, who were suspicious of him, had watched him closely if they could get close enough and had later noticed only his carefulness with every movement he had made, as if he knew he was being watched.

That night, he said many things that he wouldn't have said in his right mind, that she wouldn't have guessed in a million years. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders when she dragged him away from the streets, she pretended that he wasn't pressing against her, that the tips of his fingers had not accidentally smoothed down the swaying fabric of her light blue dress; his mouth was close to her ear when he whispered his dirty little secrets, one of which included a personal fetish for tube socks. He listed the lovely collection he had back at home, each of selected colors, patterns, where he had bought them from, and it turned out the fuzzy woolen pair with the little smiling beetle designs was his favorite. She nearly chewed her tongue off to stop from letting out a giggle.

It would have been funnier if Shino had not spontaneously slipped off of her and landed in the mud puddle.

"That better not be what I think it is…" Kiba grumbled, pinching his super-sensitive nose while he watched Sakura wipe Shino's face off with wet towels. Her hands delicately but firmly scrubbed the dirt off the bridge of his nose, she had even gently scrubbed his nostrils that were clogged with dregs of mud. When she wiped his hands, she noticed how soft they were unlike the rough blistery kinds with chipped nails that other shinobi had. She assumed it was the use of Kikai that gave him the advantage of never having to use kunai and shuriken excessively.

And still, even after she left Shino in the canine shinobi's care, she had been wondering more and more about the texture of his hands. It was much too soft for a man's, the glossy lines that crossed over the palms like written messages passed down from the stories of his past.

Before they both ended up in Kiba's place, she had found him almost passed out in a dirty bar and carried him to the closest possible shelter she could reach in a short time, walking right into the Inuzuka's apartment when he was about to take out the garbage, knocking him on the floor to push in the massive heap of the unconscious drunken Shino. He was propped up on one of the fold-up chairs in the adjoined kitchen and dining room, being watched closely by both of his fellow Rookies with looks of pure curiosity and pity. Their faces were so close to his, their noses could have brush against the frames of his sunglasses.

Soon he was able to breathe again, although it was harsher; she imagined his eyes fluttering awake at the sight of his best friend's bachelor's pad with peeling white walls and moldy orange-brown carpeting. She imagined his eyes, whatever color they werethough she imagined them to be a dark hue, that he could be watching the two other ninjas bent over staring and speculating him in a creepy way. Not until she let out a sigh of relief, when an awful grumbling noise came from the pit of his stomach that caused the cheeks of Shino's sickly pale face to expand and bubble into two fleshy globes that didn't look right with his slender shape. He slapped one of his hands over his mouth before hell let loose and ran to the bathroom to relieve the aftermath.

He was sprawled over the ceramic bowl of the toilet, his head bent over into the shadows of the clear whiteness. His breath was heated by flowing throw-up of his dinner; his nose was full of the disgusting smells of vomit and chlorine. Even alone, he was ashamed of himself. He was covered in smears of mud and dirt water he had fallen into, his hair was messier than ever before, his sunglasses went so low down the bridge of his nose that it could have fallen into the pool of toilet water. He washed his hands for long periods of time, trying to cleanse himself of his shame and humiliation even though he knew it could not be washed off so easily with antibacterial soap suds.

Even after the attempts to cleaning himself up, he flew across the tiles of the bathroom floor only to find himself over the bowl again. He felt so pained, that sticky sweat had formed over his hot skin. His throat burned with acidic bile that rose and rushed out of his mouth, his chest and bowels had tingled and flushed out the rest of his drunken grandeur.

He hated himself for the noises he made, when he spit out the last of what looked like corn into the toilet.

He didn't even _eat_ corn that night, damn it.

It was a few minutes after midnight when Shino finally came out, carefully closing the door behind him as if nothing happened even though the sounds of toilet flushing had polluted the pregnant silence. He peeked behind his back, to check for any small spectacle of mess. Kiba was sitting uncomfortably on his favorite chair, the one that was so squishy it looked like it could swallow anyone who sat on the weary leather. Sakura leaned against the wall near the large blinded window. Her glowing green eyes staring at the towering young man with such sympathy, it almost reminded him of…of what his mother would have looked at him with if she knew what he had done.

Kiba smirked, the first to break the quiet with an abrupt jab in the ego, "Boy, I'm making you pay for clogging up my toilet." But Shino had only eyes for the pink-haired girl.

She let out a breathless gasp and pulled herself from the wall, ran towards the bug shinobi.

"Shino…! We were so worried—"

"We? I was more worried about my toilet," Kiba voiced out sarcastically, but was ignored.

He held up a hand that stopped her from coming closer, perhaps before she threw her arms around him in a death grip. "Sakura-san," his voice was slightly weak but deep if not deeper than usual, he probably had feared for his skin. "Don't bother."

Her eyes were brimming with such concern, something he hadn't seen in a while it made him want to look away, "You still look awful. At least let me help you…" Her voiced trailed on, as both of their eyes were trapped on the rise of one of her hands that reach over to him, to maybe grasp his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. But he took a fraction of a step back that her fingers missed and could barely stroke the buttons of his mud-drenched dress shirt, so she could not touch him.

Shino was so quiet, so determined tonight.

"You should probably go home," he said, suddenly appearing behind her in a flash and using his two impossibly soft hands to push Sakura to the door while she wildly protested. His wince went unnoticed when she scratched his arms when she yelled at him. He was persistent, unwilling to see extra visitors, "You need your sleep."

"So do you!" she yelped, twisting around while the both of them fumble in a race of flailing arms and loud objections, "You need more rest than me! Let me help you! You could have a fever or worse—"

Already one of his hands was twisting the doorknob, while the other gripped her arm to stop her moving. Her cries, his helplessly strict voice that tried to reassure her of his wellbeing, Kiba's echoing cackle in the background. It must have been quite a scene: Shino tossing Sakura out of the door.

Kiba watched everything with such amusement, making his chair his throne as he watched his pestering subjects fight over misconceptions. Shino had shut the door, quickly connecting the latch and hook. Before he could lock it, Sakura pushed it open as far she could without breaking it that only a narrow strip of her was seen. Pink strands of hair, the edge of her open lips, and a pretty nose poked through. Her voice had probably woken up the dead.

"SHINO! Let me in now! I'm the village's celebrated MEDIC! You're insulting me if you leave me out here!" Sakura screamed in a high-pitched voice, vibrating off the walls and rooftops of the Hidden Leaf, "Let me in this instant! Aburame Shino! You're such a jerk!"

"_Shino! You're such a jerk!_" Kiba mimicked in a loud creepy girlish voice, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratingly before laughing. Shino closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, repressing all desire to kill him, before opening them and whispered to her through the doorframe crack.

"Sakura-san. You're embarrassing us," he murmured.

Sakura suddenly stiffened and then banged on the door many times. When he noticed that she moved her face away from the frame, he closed it quickly before locking so he wouldn't have to snap her nose off with the door. Accidentally-on-purpose.

"Jerk! Jerk! JERK!" she shrieked before tossing up her hands in the air, and walked away muttering to herself angrily.

Kiba stifled his laughter, both of his hands clasped on his sputtering mouth when he watched Shino walk right into the empty guest room with nothing to say. When the bedroom door closed, Kiba let out a howl of demented mirth. It went on for a while, that Shino had enough time to change into some extra clothing and curled himself up in the bed.

He called out to him, since the walls were so paper-thin. Even when he doesn't seem like it, Kiba knew Shino was always listening, that he yelled, "Do you have any idea how pissed off she would be at you in the morning?"

Later that night, Kiba found hundreds of Kikai bugs in his bed.

* * *

To Be Continued

* * *

I love writing this chapter. Sorry for the toilet jokes. 


	5. Mother He Wrote

**Disclaimer:** Sweetie, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: _LiveLoveLaugh_

FanFiction Story: **Dirty Gamble**

**Summary:** (Prequel of Dirty Talk) They were the emulsion of oil and water, their love was not immediate. Their friendship was rocky, but at the end of the game, they win more than just a prize. (ShinoXSaku)

* * *

I wanted to write a little about Shino's background.

* * *

_Mother He Wrote_

* * *

Twelve years ago, his father had vanished behind the oak door of the master bedroom on the third floor of the stucco manor that many generations of the Aburame family had grown up in. The door was shut and locked, even now, it was closed and only when his father would open it would anyone catch at least a glimpse of the blinding glare reflecting from the window light and scrubbed white walls. He remembered standing outside the door with wide-set eyes, staring at the whole picture of it, complete with the two framed butterfly collections on each side of the polished doorframe. Back then, so young was he, the little boy felt strong masses of anger, sadness, contempt, loneliness, and many other passionate feelings he knew no little boy should feel at such an age.

Years later, the same scene in his mind had played over and over again as if it were a broken record. And so clearly, he could see the picture, the forms, the colors, all which were transformed from an emulsion of blurs into something so deep and heart aching, he found it hard to breathe sometimes. He remembered his father kneeling down towards him, to come down his level, so both their eyes, although hidden away by dark spectacles, would meet and they would both sense his eyes were full of the complete and utter mixture of compassion…and loss.

They had all wished she hadn't left. But she did.

_Fell out of love_, people had said with disapproval written over their faces and voices, and fell in love—irreversibly and recklessly—with someone she had just met. And ran off, leaving her husband behind with their only son.

He remembered the awful bile rising in his throat, the lump that bobbed whenever he tried to swallow when his father was on his knees, as if begging for forgiveness, and the soft, firm pressure of his father's hand on his small shoulder that felt as though it was being crushed by the weight of guilt and hopelessness swimming in his father's speechless aura. And he remembered the weak helpless smile his father had tried to form on his thin lips—the kind of mouth that the little boy had also inherited along with the bushy hair and the freakishly tall height—a kind of mouth not used for smiling or showing off teeth. It was merely two flaps made for breathing and necessary words.

Maybe that's why she left; she needed more than the number of breaths this man had taken.

The little boy was panicking. His heart nearly jumped out of his thin ribs, the beating had nearly caused internal bruises against the skin of his chest. His knobby knees shook, however slightly, and the fidgety movements he had not trained himself to control had pulsed behind his thick buttoned-down coat. The little boy was quite tall for his age that he certainly felt as though he was tilting and could have tripped on his own two feet. He suddenly felt unbalanced and unconnected to the carpet ground, trying to keep steady with the soft watery gaze of his father, the tears slowly running down beneath the shades and trickled over the soft straight hairs above his upper lip.

"I'm sorry," his father whispered sincerely, but they both knew he meant to say, _I'm sorry I failed her_.

* * *

Shino turn to his side and closed his eyes satisfyingly when he heard the echoing surprised screams of Kiba bounce off the walls in the next room. Although his destruction bugs rather dislike the taste of his chakra, the bug shinobi slept—with a small grin on his face and wondered why he never thought of it before—in the spare bed with the blankets pulled up to his shoulders and his sunglasses folded on the nightstand. The room was dark and peaceful into the hours of the night. 

All of the last dreams he last had were of him silently watching caterpillars and beetles crawl up on stalks of forest plants and trees, practicing the language of bugs he shared mutual bonds with. But tonight, after the early events of the day, he began to envision himself in a different sort of dream.

That night he dreamt a small memory he buried deep into his mind long ago, it suddenly resurfaced, plunging his thoughts to his younger self twelve years ago. He dreamt that he was sitting in the living room, leaning over the coffee table with a crayon and paper. He remembered this living room very well, since it was one of the many places in the manor children were not allowed to play in. All the furniture was furnished teakwood with plastic covers over silk cushions with embroidered patterns of bird of paradises, spotless white carpeting, orchids and tulips in every ceramic vase, framed family pictures on the cabinets and the mantle of the fireplace, the large window behind him was framed with heavy velvet off-white drapes tied with curtain strings, giving the room an expensive rococo look.

God forbid he had a glass of grape juice with him. His mother would kill him.

She had always caught him at it with his drawing, coloring in the black spots of ladybugs or tracing the music-making brown legs of a cricket. He drew and he drew, sometimes adding a caption or two in a speaking bubble between a conversation with a fuzzy yellow and black bee and a dung beetle. He had always found a rather nice privacy in the forbidden living room, spreading rolls of fax papers he took from his uncle's office over the coffee table, opening his giant pack of sharpened wax crayons, and draw endlessly for hours.

But usually his mother would walk into the living room, abruptly scorn him from the living room, and scold him, telling him that this was no place for a boy to be in. She was rather fond with the room with all the western furniture she had selected and decorated herself, over the years in his short life span, he had watched all the effort his mother had put into furnishing the entire manor which ignited a world of silent gossip between the Aburame women. They, including some of the men, had always wondered about the strange behavior the woman had recently been showing. They expected it was something she was hiding, but the little uncertainties were immediately forgotten when the manor had soon improved by the cleaning and nice furniture.

Though she was not an Aburame, but had instead married into the family, she was well accepted by her husband's relatives, who unlike other in-laws, did not bother with little things like jealousy and critiques of this new woman. As long as she made Shibi happy, they believed, they did not mind the invasion. They did not challenge the love between the two, all the Aburame were rather apathetic towards romance and feelings which they believed were little things, which eventually led to the downfall of the clan leader's marriage.

That one day, when the little boy was leaving crayon shavings over the white carpet, he attempted to frantically clean up the mess before his mother would catch him. His sunglasses jumbled on his small nose when he flung himself on the ground, even using his Kikai to help him along. When he sat back up on his knees, he caught his mother staring at him at the front of the living room.

He expected to be punished right then and there. He expected his behind to be cut off and framed on the fireplace, like she had once threatened to do. Of course, she burst into laughter when they both imagined his pale pink cheeks next to his portrait on the brick mantle. But he predicted she would do it now by the look in her eyes.

"Shino…" she whispered, calling him over. He stood up instantly and bowed to her.

"Mother! I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to…I know I wasn't supposed to, I just—I've shamed you," he spluttered out his ready long apology, but stopped when he felt both of his mother's hands on his thin shoulders. When he looked up, he saw something in his mother's face he had never seen before. Something silly and childish had made her narrow face rounder and fuller, the look in her eyes that he had misinterpreted was not of anger or disappointment, but rather of amusement.

"Oh boy, I can see that," she smiled, unconcerned by the crayon streaks on the coffee table, "We can clean that off later. But I think we both can use some early dessert, how about that? Shino, would you like some?"

He was speechless, but followed his mother's heed. The neat-freak he had once known no longer presented herself in the manor, and was replaced by this kinder, gentler, carefree woman Shino did not trust so willingly. It took him a while for the little boy to see that this was the same lady, who was his mother. He sat in the kitchen, waiting as his mother dashed from the refrigerator to the cupboards. He stared at her suspiciously but he suddenly forgotten the flaws, like all of her other flaws, when she presented something good and so innocent to take away the uncertainty like two bowls of mango fruit pudding with coconut milk.

His mother's bowl was untouched; she was busy watching her son gobbled up the sweet delicacy leaving orange stains on his chin and lips. She rested her chin on one of her hands, her elbow gracing the marble counter. She had a faraway look in her eyes, when Shino had glanced over, her fingers twirling a spoon. Suddenly she caught him staring, and giggled.

"I'm sorry, I'm not hungry," she murmured, pushing her pudding towards Shino which he had taken and ate, this time, at a slower pace.

"You must like good things," his mother smiled. Shino grinned and nodded, before devouring another spoonful.

"Everyone likes good, nice things every now and then," she said, her voice was so fresh and crisp, "Something to make them happy and feel good inside. Something to make them smile and laugh, make their entire body fill with good feelings. Something to occupy their lives with," her eyes were hooded and turned darker, "But every now and then is usually not enough for some…do you know what I mean, Shino?"

He stopped eating and stared at his mother with a questioning look, "I think so…"

"Shino, I like good things, too," she whispered, her voice was quieter and deeper. "I like them better if they make me very happy. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Even though she was looking at him, he doubted if she even knew who she was staring at. She was staring deeply at his face, seeing as though her son's face remembered her of someone else.

"I think so…" he said. He lied, and they both knew it.

She wasn't even looking at him anymore, but looked to be pulled into her own world, still wearing that soft smile, "I'm in love, Shino. Do you know what that means?"

"I think so…" he said again, lying straight from his mouth, absolutely ignoring the good things of his dessert. He dove straight into something, like a trap, he felt as though he was deceived by good things, and suddenly the pudding in his stomach churned in his gut. He didn't want to hear anymore, because he was afraid he was going to be right.

"He was so kind…so nice…I didn't mean to—I didn't know I could," she smiled, her eyes were moistened and she looked about to cry, "_I'm in love_," she said determinedly.

"Mother…" he whispered through his teeth, which were gritted so tightly, "What about Father?"

"Your father Shibi…" she closed her eyes, sighing deeply, "I can't do this anymore…not for him, and not even for the family…I'd been stuck in this hellhole for so long…I forgot it was like before I met Shibi, I can't say anymore or else, I would've said too much…I'm sorry it's come to this…"

"What about me?" the little boy blinked behind his sunglasses, appalled by her behavior, "What about _me?_ Aren't I a good thing?"

She looked at him, smiling that awful smile he come to hate, "Shino, you are..." When she reached for him, the little boy jumped off the stool and yelled at her.

"You're lying!" Shino cried, panicking, "You're lying about all that!"

"I'm leaving the manor tonight, Shino," his mother said with absoluteness, picking up the bowls and spoons and walked over to the kitchen sink, "He's waiting for me at the East Gate, and I'm leaving." With the twist of the knob, a rush of water splattered against the glass and silverware.

"You can't leave!" Shino wailed, pulling at her khaki pants urging her to turn around, "Mommy!"

She quietly squeezed lemon-scented dishwashing soap into a sponge and scrubbed the stains from the dirty dishes. Shino was whimpering and sobbing on his knees, next to her feet, his little hands grabbing onto the ends of her pants. He wringed it back side to side, tears and pudding smears created stickiness on his face that he tried to rub off.

"Mommy! Please don't leave me!" Shino yelled out, cradling himself against the sink cupboards, even after his mother finished the dishes and left him there. The sounds of her sandals had disappeared and that was the last he seen her, and he was sobbing so loudly that one of his aunts had passed by and yelped when she saw him there. She picked him up and rocked him gently, but he would not subdue to anything. When he was still crying, the rush of family members ran all over the place and tried to confront the housewife of the clan leader but she was nowhere to be found.

The last few words he had repressed of his mother, when she had knelt down and kissed him on the forehead before her son had thrown his small arms around her trying not to let her go, the words were soft and she did not have that awful smile on her face, she made him look at her and sternly whispered to him, "_Shino, I'm sorry, but I must go._"

She released him and left.

Twelve years later, the same eighteen-year-old shinobi had awoken silently from his dreams, with cold sweat everywhere.

* * *

In the late morning, Shino had left Kiba's bachelor's pad (smelling of mutt) and walked to the manor on the other side of the village. After that night, he knew he had to confront into someone who also well affected by the absence of his mother. He had surprised several of his older relatives, mostly female, who made him sit on one of the chairs in the porch near the training grounds. Although he refused politely, one of his aunts pushed a flowery plate of sweet dumplings and a cup of scalding hot tea into his hands. 

"Just wait a while for your father, Shino-san," she murmured, motioning him to be seated, "He will be here shortly." He sensed her eyes glowing with happiness behind her sunglasses, she was glad to see him again. When she left to find Shibi, her two children—his younger cousins, one of which was already married—were left to entertain him.

"How's your baby Yutsuko-san?" he whispered, not sure what to say.

She cooed delightfully at the fullness of her round stomach, adjusting her shades, "Well, the Hokage-sama says the baby is doing fine, it really makes Raito-kun very happy to hear that." She bent over as much as she could, excitedly, "We're having a baby boy!"

Shino nodded, "Good for you."

"It's been a long time since you'd been back here, Shino-sempai," said his fourteen-year-old male cousin, Shingen, who was a bit flustered by his morning training and the heir's surprise drop-in, "I'd been training hard."

"Yes, I've heard," Shino nodded again, "Your techniques with the Kikai is showing improvements."

"It is," Shingen agreed, sipping tea.

Yutsuko, who was quite known for her chirpiness despite the strict mannerisms of the Aburame clan, had begun to talk about all the kunoichi she had met in her field of work. She glanced sometimes at Shino, to see if he was interested in any of them, "I know this one female shinobi, her name is Jimyoin Ikue and she worked wonderfully with her—"

"Isn't she twenty-four?" Shingen snorted quietly, "She's a bit old for him, isn't she?"

The two siblings had always held secret loathing for each other, usually showing it with cutting comments, fighting mostly for their mother's favor. Shingen was sometimes embarrassed with his sister's oddball-like behavior around anyone, especially guests, seeing how that can be reflected upon him. Yutsuko looked slightly irritated by her younger brother, who was too strict with family traditions and stuffy about everything, she didn't want him to go around and ruin her plan to hook up her older cousin with some nice bachelorettes, "Well, excuse me, if I wanted to see at least some romance in this manor now and then. I don't mean it as an insult, Shino-san," she said apologetically to him.

Shingen rolled his eyes behind his polished sunglasses. Shino just shook his head.

"No harm done," he said, plainly. She nodded and smiled at him.

"I can't help it, sometimes I can get wild about romance," she sighed, "Though I wonder if you have met some nice girls by yourself, sometimes relationships make a difference in our lives."

"No, I haven't," Shino said, not knowing where this conversation was taking him, "You're not the only one who has done this for me."

"Who really?" Yutsuko ran a hand over her round tummy beneath her dress, "Has your friend Inuzuka Kiba been setting you up?"

"You can say that…" he looked exasperated by such a thought.

"He is such a flirt," she laughed softly and deeply, "All my friends talk about him. He's dated at least one from every clan, is that right? Well, not exactly an Aburame yet, I would have heard about it."

"He claims there are no good-looking Aburame girls," Shino muttered.

"He's right," Shingen agreed, taking another sip of his tea. Yutsuko looked about to hit him.

When both of his cousins set out to destroy each other with their biting comments and critiques, Shino sat back only a little bit to watch the training grounds. A few of his uncles were practicing techniques over and over again, sweat forming on their foreheads and were swathed by the heat of their bulging clothing, swinging around to let Kikai fly around and control them to the fullest extent. His few cousins, all older than him, were seated in the shades of trees and meditated. A cloud of flies hung around their bushy mops of hair, buzzing in rhythm of their messages.

Although they were a small clan, having not many men and women and children, they were kept into harmony with one another and their fellow bugs. Sometimes there were intermarriages, like one with Yutsuko and her husband Raito, now in the present, the younger generation of Aburame shinobi had sought women outside their clan though it was foolish, since not every woman would want to be with someone with destruction bugs crawling behind their skin. Unless they didn't know.

There was less to no child-rearing, as Yutsuko was the first female in the family in years to be impregnated. There were only a few unmarried girls in the Aburame clan, all who had a hard time being respected for their skill and liked for their hidden femininity. The number of unmarried Aburame men was large as usual; several of Shino's uncles were rumored to have never touched a woman. Not that it mattered, but now the entire clan was in a constant fear that without new marriages and children, their clan would be extinct.

Perhaps it was a sudden shock to the entire clan in his father's generation, when Shibi married someone outside of the clan. It was something not well-practiced in the family then, some had wondered about the purity of Aburame blood flowing in their yet-to-be-born child's veins, whether the Kikai could accept him as a vessel or reject the baby heir. But no such thing happened, the Kikai fed upon Shino's chakra when he had made a blood contract with the destruction bugs. He wondered, though, what his mother must have thought of it.

He snapped out of his deep thoughts when he noticed the presence of Shingen and Yutsuko was suddenly replaced by someone bigger and more powerful in authority than both of his younger cousins added together. He stared across the small table at Shibi, his father and leader of the Aburame clan.

"Father," Shino stood and bowed in politeness.

Back then, when his mother had left the manor, Shino was barely old enough to attend the renowned academy for young potential ninjas, but back then, he knew the reason why his father went through the grueling seven weeks of escapism and depression. Although he wasn't able to grieve properly, he fueled his naïve desperation solely on a memory that had even embarrassed him later on when he turned eighteen—the moments where he would watch his father shave.

His father was a handsome shinobi for his age, if one were to see beyond the intimidating disguises of rolls of clothing he wore and the sunglasses that hidden away his perfectly nice eyes. His dusky dark beard was coming in quite nicely and had trimmed it regularly to keep up with the dashing mustache. Often, his son sat on top of the marble sink top and watched his father smear a generous handful of foamy shaving cream over his chin, sideburns, and the corners of his mouth, the gleaming razor slicing through the sparse unwanted hairs and thick white gunk. The blade was often switched to glide upwards, sideways, right to left, up, down, swiftly, quickly picking up blots of cream and dusky black hairs from his skin. Never had he ever witnessed his father's chin blotted with accidental cuts or toilet paper pieces like many of his other uncles had had, because his old man knew how to take care of his beard.

Many anxious nights and days, the little boy wished for one noticeable dark hair to appear on his chin, hoping for a masculine goatee like his father's so he too can learn the mastery of using a razor. Every morning, he watched his father show off his glory by swiftly stripping his face of unworthy hairs. The graceful firm movements were what enticed the little boy more than anything in the small white bathroom.

He leaned just close enough to catch the strong waft of the shaving cream scent from his father's face, but was far enough to avoid disrupting his father from his morning ritual. One time Shino had cut his chin from trying to shave his bare skin, earning disapproval from his mother who wiped away the cut with rubbing alcohol and bandaged it.

"_You're not old enough, Shino_," she said calmly, standing up and twisting the cap closed on the alcohol bottle. But his father only smiled and let his son continue watching him shave in the mornings despite his wife's complaints.

"Shino, it's been a while," Shibi smiled slightly. Although there was little to no smiling among Aburame males, Shibi was the only one willing give away his emotions through the coulters of his face. Sometimes the smallest smile he gives, it had embarrassed his relatives. Through the lightness the clan leader held in his movements and gracefulness, he was nearly challenging the generations of tradition of shinobi, it was something his son could not inherit.

"It's very long since I'd seen you, least of all, to have tea with you," his father lifted up a plate of sweets and gently ate one, handing him the plate, "Want one? They're good."

He shook his head and looked as his father reached for another one. Shino noticed Shibi had a sweet tooth, craving for little childish things like candy and sweet dango. Shino had lost his taste for sweets ever since the mango fruit pudding his mother had deceived him with. From that day, he felt so much older, only eating bland foods, mostly bitter dishes and tofu. Another thing his father and him did not have in common.

While he listened to his father talk in the distinct monotone, however light and calm it was, he could silently criticize the every flaw of his father who did not match the Aburame ideal. His beard was lustrous and handsome, which made little kids laugh with delight when they touched it. He wore a funny chain on the frame of his sunglasses, giving a humorous look to his intimidating stance. He smiled too much, talked too much, ate too many sweets, was not as serious as the rest of the family, and had married the wrong kind of woman.

And he forgave her. Something Shino couldn't do.

"Where are you going?" Shibi asked, his eyebrows lifted when his son got up to leave, "We've just got started…"

"I apologize, Father," Shino whispered, deeply, "Maybe I came at the wrong time."

Shibi looked about to say something, but he stopped himself. He shook his head a little, and motioned him good-bye, "Yes, of course. Come back when you can."

"Yes, Father," the bug shinobi bowed, even when he didn't need to, and left the porch with the secret of the runaway mother between them, folded and waiting to spring between the unbearable silence.

* * *

To Be Continued

* * *


End file.
